


Coming Up For Air

by hetrez



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Beer, Fluff, Gen, Sunsets, happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 21:53:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2483714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hetrez/pseuds/hetrez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the first good day after a string of bad ones, and Bucky feels so light he might just float away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Up For Air

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, have a tiny slice-of-life gen story about Bucky and Sam chilling and drinking beer, and the islands of happiness a person can experience when they are healing from trauma. I promise it really does feel that fucking magical.

It's the first good day after a string of bad ones, and Bucky feels so light he might just float away. It's evening, and all the other residents of the Tower are elsewhere, but it's okay because Bucky isn't isolating, and he isn't afraid.

He's in Tony's ugly modern clubhouse common room, the one with the dark walls and the sea-weedy LED statues that light up blue and purple after dark. Sometimes Bucky likes it here, and sometimes he hates it, but it is home.

The elevator at the far end of the living room dings and swishes open. When Bucky sees the single occupant, he grins.

"Hey there, Smiley," Sam says, wandering in and looking around. The sun is about to dip out of sight beyond the skyline, and those funny sea-weedy statues are quietly beginning to glow. The room is lit yellow, and the darkening sky through the floor-to-ceiling windows is streaked white and pink with clouds. It's good that Bucky has company, watching this. Sam comes and plunks down on the stool next to Bucky, leaning his forearms on the L-shaped island bar. "JARVIS said you were here. What's got you so happy?"

Bucky shrugs, and takes a sip of the weird microbrew Tony stocks. It tastes like bread and it won't get him drunk, but despite himself Bucky has gotten addicted and now he downs six-packs like soda pop. It's technically a summer beer, but Tony somehow manages to get it all year round. "Just feel good, I guess."

That isn't the half of it. He woke up this morning and felt like he had _skin_ , instead of the hard plastic shell or the raw twitching nerve endings he feels like he has on bad days. He looked in the mirror and didn't hate himself; he went running with Steve and the smell of the air in Central Park lit something up in his hindbrain, some faded happy memory of fall. He exchanged a few words with Dr Foster's knockout assistant, and she blushed and smiled at his flirting. The world is new.

"Oh, you _guess_ ," Sam says, with that gorgeous happy-teasing tone he gets sometimes. "I suppose that's all right, then."

Bucky dips his head in a little bow. "Well, thank you for your permission."

"Well, you're welcome," Sam says. He points at Bucky's beer. "Can I have one of those?"

Bucky shrugs again, feeling something in his chest open. Yes, he can give of himself. Yes, he wants Sam to have a beer. "It's a free Tower," he says.

"Yeah, sure, except every time somebody takes one of those little bottles you look like you're going to cut them."

"I do not," Bucky says, except he doesn't know for sure what he looks like on bad days. But today is a good day, so it's all right. "Go on, try it, see what happens."

Sam grins and gets up, brushing a hand across Bucky's shoulder as he goes. If Sam had done that yesterday, Bucky would have hunched down like a turtle and hated himself for cringing. If Sam had done that a week ago, Bucky would have had to concentrate to keep from breaking his wrist. Today, Bucky leans into it, enjoying the warmth of skin and the weight of human contact.

Out of all the people living in the Tower, Sam seemed to get the hang of Bucky first. His company was easy when Bucky needed it to be easy, and he was serious when Bucky needed serious. It was only after months that Bucky was well enough to hold some of Sam's pain in return, to lighten some of his friend's burdens by sharing them. Next week, there's an anniversary coming up, and they're gonna go down to Arlington and pay their respects to Riley's grave. Bucky feels a rush of gratitude, that he can be part of people's lives like this again.

Sam settles back next to him, funny beer in hand. "Man, now you've got me craving this stuff. It tastes like crackers."

Bucky says, "Bread."

"Oh, yeah, bread," Sam says. "That doesn't make it any less weird. You've got a lot to answer for, Barnes."

It's a good day, so Bucky doesn't recite the list of every crime he has yet to answer for, the one he repeats to himself sometimes on bad days. Instead, Bucky says, tone lofty and obnoxious, "We all have our burdens," and grins at Sam's chuckle. They settle into quiet for a few minutes, while the sun disappears completely and the sea-weedy statues come to full glow, and then he says, "You know Tony got me a private tour of the Brewery, once." That had been another good day.

Sam makes a face, and takes a swig of beer. "Yeah, well, you know who gets excited going to _Patchogue_ , Barnes. Also, gloating is unattractive."

"False," Bucky says. "You know he'd give you stuff, too, if you let him. He's tried to buy that apartment of yours like six times."

"Maybe I like paying rent," Sam says. He taps the rim of the bottle with his fingers.

"Maybe you like messing with Tony," Bucky says.

"Maybe I like a little independence," Sam counters. Before Bucky can hassle him again, he says, "Seriously, man, you look good."

Bucky says, "I feel good."

Sam nods, and it's as simple as that.

They sit in silence and watch the lights of the city. Tonight the Empire State Building is lit up green and blue, and Bucky can see the pale clouds behind it, reflecting the glare of city lights.

Back when Bucky was first getting better, he used to hate the good days almost as much as the bad ones. He remembers being terrified, every day that he was happy, that it would end and he'd be plunged back into misery again. It's been nearly two years since he came in from the cold, and he's gotten used to the ups and downs of himself. He can store up the memory of good days to fight the bad ones. He can sit with a friend and savor.

After all this time and all he's lived through, Bucky's happiness is a gift.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was brought to you by insomnia, the aftermath of a severe depressive phase on the part of the author, and repeated listenings of [La cloche a sonné](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-rKtNc5_RTc). I don't even know, dude.
> 
> Also, the beer in the fic is [Blue Point Brewery's Summer Ale](http://bluepointbrewing.com/bpbc/microbrews/summer-ale/), which probably only tastes like bread to me because I have weird taste associations. Try it and let me know.


End file.
